Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows (29 page)

I duck down and open the rusty letter box. The smell of mould floats out.

‘Marc?’ I call.

There’s a scuffling sound, and then the hard knock of someone jogging down wooden stairs.

Dirty trainers come into view, and I take a step back. It’s not Marc.
My heart catches in my mouth.

The front door is wrenched open and a grey-haired man stands before me.
I stare at him in shock.

He has dark eyes, but other than that
, there’s no colour in him at all. He’s washed out grey like an old shirt.

The bones of his shoulders
stick up through his loose white vest, and his dark trousers hang off him. He looks dishevelled and dirty, and shields his eyes from the winter sunshine.

‘Who the hell are you?’ The man’s
eyes dart to the photographers behind us. Then he looks at me.

‘Oh. Sorry.’ I take a step back. ‘I think I’ve got the wrong place. I was looking for Marc.’

The man rubs his greasy forehead. ‘Who the fuck wants to know about Marc?’

A shadow looms at the top of the stairs.

‘Sophia?’ Marc thunders down the staircase in his black shirt and trousers. He looks paler than ever, and not at all happy to see me.

Marc shoulders past the man, who vanishes back into the house.

‘How did you get here?’ Marc asks, his eyes wide with concern.

‘What’s going on, Marc?’

Marc runs a hand through his hair. His eyes focus on the Aston Martin over my shoulder. ‘You drove here?’

I bite my lip and l
ook sheepish. ‘Yes.’

Marc’s lips part, and I can’t work out if he’s angry or not. He stares at me for a moment, then snaps his mouth closed. ‘Sophia, this is a dangerous part of town. You need to go.’ He takes my arm and leads me down the front path. The
paps have the good sense to take a step back and let us pass.

‘No.’ I shake my arm free. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’

‘This is my mess. I don’t want you having anything to do with this.’ He glances back at the house. ‘I never, ever want you to see inside that house. You’d ... see me differently.’

‘I love you,’ I say. ‘Do you think that will ever change?’

‘Yes. If you saw ... look, you shouldn’t be here. I’m fixing things, so you never need to see this.’

‘You’re wrong,’ I say. ‘The more I know about you, the more I love you. Who was that man?’

Marc closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the white sky. ‘Nobody important. Sophia, this isn’t the place for you.’ His glances over my shoulder. ‘You drove the car okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then get back in it. Right now. And go back to the townhouse. I’ll meet you there.’

‘No, Marc.’

‘Sophia, I don’t want you to be any part of this mess.’

‘Marc.’ I shake my head. ‘Whatever’s going on, I want to be part of it. I want to be part of you. Of your life.’

‘No.’ Marc says the words sternly. ‘Not this part of my life.’

‘Every part of your life,’ I insist. ‘Relationships aren’t about editing out the messy parts. If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll find out for myself.’

I charge past him into the house.

‘Sophia!’ I hear him shout, but I’m already in the hallway, nearly losing my footing on bare, wobbly floorboards.

I charge up the stairs two at a time and see three open doors and one closed one. There’s a stained toilet in one room, and sagging double beds in two others.

I face the fourth room – the closed one – and pull the door open.

I don’t know what I expect to find in the room, but ... I’m just so confused.

The man who answered the door is in here, sitting on a stained mattress, his legs splayed out in front of him. But there’s no one else. I notice empty vodka bottles lined up on the window sill and a half empty one by the bed.

It’s a dirty, squalid room, and I don’t get what Marc has to do with this place.

The man’s head snaps up when I enter.

‘Sophia.’ Marc appears behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders.

The man pushes himself up on the mattress. ‘Who’s the girl?’

‘She’s none of your business,’ Marc growls, pushing me behind him.

‘That’s no way to talk to your old man.’

My mouth drops open. ‘Your ... Marc, he’s your ... he’s your
father
?’

Marc’s silence tells me everything I need to know.

‘You said your father was dead.’

‘
I know.’

‘What’s going on, Marc?’

‘My father isn’t dead. I lied. He’s still alive and drinking himself to death. I haven’t seen him in years. But I needed to come back today.’

‘Why?’

‘To return the car. And say my goodbyes.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m making my peace. Trying to forgive. He’s just a sad old man now, and I have to let my anger go. Because otherwise, I’ll never move forward.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me your father was still alive?’

‘I never wanted you to meet him. I never wanted you to see ... who I came from.’

I slip my hand into Marc’s and feel his fingers tighten around mine.

‘This is your old family home?’ I ask, staring at the bare boards and peeling wallpaper.

‘Not an
ymore. Only when mum was here. There’s nothing left now. Only him. After I stopped paying his bills in the States, he came back here. And ... well, you can see the sort of lifestyle. He’s all alone.’

‘Are you ashamed of your old family home?’

‘No,’ says Marc, glancing at his father. ‘I’m not ashamed of where I came from. I’m ashamed of
who
I came from.’

‘You shouldn’t be ashamed,’ says Marc’s father. ‘I made you who you are.’

I look at the bitter, broken figure of Marc’s father, swigging vodka on the dirty mattress. I can feel the ugliness coming from him. The hatred towards his son and the jealousy. They have the same nose, the two men, but nothing else about them is similar at all.

‘
And I don’t need your forgiveness,’ Marc’s father adds.

‘
Well you have it, anyway. Come on.’ Marc takes my hand. ‘I’ve done what I came here to do. For better or worse.’ He leads me into the hall.

‘You thought I’d see you differently if I met your father?’ I ask. ‘That I’d love you less?’

‘I thought ... perhaps ...’ His eyes search my face, and I see a desperate vulnerability in his eyes. They’re so clear today, it’s astounding.

‘Well
, you were wrong. I love you more the more I know about you.’

'We should go.'

I feel Marc’s eyes on me all the way down the stairs. When we get to the front door, he reaches out a hand to stop me opening it.

‘Wait. Let me go out first. I want to keep the wolves at bay.’

I step aside and let him march out, glaring at photographers. Predictably, they back off.

I follow, and then Marc takes my hand and leads me
to the car.

‘I’ll drive,’ he says.

‘You’re leaving your father’s car here?’ I ask.

‘
Yes. It’s staying with him. He can do what he likes with it. Sell it for drink. I don’t care. I’m letting that part of my life go.’

I squeeze his hand.
‘Marc. I’m so proud of you.’

‘It’s all down to you,’ says Marc. ‘The student taught the teacher.’ He raises his eyebrow and gives me a little smile.

‘I guess she did.’

On the drive home, Marc and I sit in silence. I sense Marc needs some thinking time, and so do I.

When we arrive back at the to
wnhouse, I glance at Marc in the dark garage and his face is... sort of softer. A little tired perhaps, but there’s a glow in his eyes. A peace I’ve never seen before.

He
jumps out of the car and opens the passenger door for me, then pulls me out into his arms, pushing his face into my hair and bringing me tight to his chest.

I rock
forward to meet his body.

‘God, I missed you.
Christ. For you still to accept me ... to love me ... after meeting him ... it’s just beyond anything I could ever imagine.’

Marc picks me up and carries me up the stairs.
Soon, we’re inside the house and taking the big wide stairs up to the second floor. He doesn’t take his eyes from mine, even when we reach the bedroom.

Slowly and carefully, he lays me on the bed and undresses me. His movements are tender and loving, but urgent too. He kisses my neck and breasts with an abandon I’ve never felt before. He’s not trying to hold it together. He’s not trying to stop himself or take charge of me.

He flips me over and runs his lips from the nape of my neck all the way down my spine to my buttocks, lips pressed so passionately against my skin that I feel he’s eating me up.

I’m so used to Marc needing to dominate that I’m kind of expecting a little slap on my buttocks, and my legs twitch in anticipation.

‘I won’t spank you,’ Marc says, running his hand around. ‘Today isn’t about me being in charge. It’s about letting go.’

‘I’m happy with that,’ I murmur.

Marc turns me over again and slides himself inside me, his face inches from mine as he moves back and forth. His lips are a little open, and there’s a softness to his eyes that, little by little, tells me he’s giving way to me.

‘Wait,
’ he says suddenly.

‘No, Marc -’

‘It’s not what you think.’

Mar
c doesn’t leave the room or take some sex toy from a drawer or shelf. Instead, he reaches up and finds a pillow, which he props under my buttocks.

‘I think you’ll enjoy things more this way.’

He’s right. With my hips tilted up against the pillow, Marc rubs against me in all the right ways, outside and inside, and a dull bruisy pleasure builds up.

We watch each other as Marc moves back and forth, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so in love with him.

Eventually, soft pleasure takes over me, and I moan and groan, moving under Marc, tilting my hips up to meet his.

Marc comes too, with a gentle murmur, and rests his cheek against mine.

‘I love you, Sophia,’ he whispers.

‘I love you too.’

‘You look like you’re in a world of your own,’ says Keith as we shunt along in London traffic.

‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Keith.’

‘Are you nervous then?’ Keith glances at me, then back at the road. ‘About dress rehearsals?’

‘A little bit. But ... Marc has taught me so much. He’s been tutoring me all week. To help me with my confidence.’

‘
Like when he took you to the farm?’

I nod. ‘Riding that horse was so scary. But ... Marc was right. It brought out the best in me. And I’ve been growing ever since. I’ll miss the college, though
. It was nice rehearsing in Queen’s Theatre. I felt safe there.’

‘Don’t you worry about safety,’ said Keith. ‘Marc has got the whole place rigged for secu
rity. How was your trip to East London?’

‘You heard about that?’

Keith nods at the road. ‘Rodney mentioned it.’

‘It was ... enlightening,’ I say. ‘And it’s brought Marc and
me closer. Much closer.’

‘Glad to hear that
. Any plans for Christmas?’

I smile. ‘I really don’t know yet. Marc and I haven’t spoken about it. It’s come up so fast.
It’s next week, isn’t it?’

‘Same every year. You blink and it’s on you. I haven’t bought any presents yet.’

‘Me neither.’

‘Do you know where you’re going to be?’

I shake my head. ‘Usually we spend Christmas at my dad’s cottage. But this year ... I don’t know. I don’t know what Marc has planned. All I know is that I’ll be performing before and after Christmas Day, so I’ll have to stay near London.’

I see the theatre up ahead, and it’s surrounded by a black swarm of paparazzi.

‘I’ve got orders to go the back way,’ says Keith, swinging the car around and heading down a narrow side road. ‘So. You nervous about opening night? It’s getting pretty close, isn’t it? And right before Christmas.’

‘I should be petrified,’ I say. ‘But for now
, I’m just focusing on the dress rehearsal. That’s enough to be nervous about.’

Keith pulls to a stop by the stage door, and I’m relieved to see a tall security guard with a thick brown beard. He’s wearing the navy blue and yellow baseball cap that tells me he’s with Marc’s firm, and he looks tall and tough.

‘Well. Don’t break a leg,’ says Keith as I climb out of the car.

‘I’ll try not to.’

As Keith drives away, I knock on the bright red stage door and wait. The security guard is doing a good impression of a statue, so we politely ignore each other while I wait for the door to be opened.